


“The Lines that Cannot Be Crossed”

by Allronix



Series: Endgame Scenario [15]
Category: Tron - All Media Types, Tron 2.0, Tron: Legacy (2010)
Genre: Brother Feels, Sparring, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-20
Updated: 2017-02-20
Packaged: 2018-09-25 22:19:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9848927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Allronix/pseuds/Allronix
Summary: Far past Legacy, Tron has returned to service, but there is still a matter of Alan-2's decision to fight for the system as a warrior instead of embracing the role of User. There's also the matter of Alan-2's inappropriate feelings as well. Some lines should never be crossed.





	

Title “The Lines that Cannot Be Crossed”

Author: Allronix

 

 

* * *

 

 

Mercury put him up to this. They’d both gritted their teeth and focused on the mission to fight a malware attack on Encom. He came to admit, grudgingly, that Mercury Six-Point-Two-Three was incredibly efficient and good at stopping threat. What disturbed him is that she was an infiltrator operating on stealth and deception, keeping an obfuscating cover as a game script to be overlooked. She is too much like the malware she fights for his liking.

 

That isn’t the only issue he has with her, not by a disc’s throw.

 

“ _You’re_ _ **scared**_ _of him.” Mercury said, eyes narrowed in challenge and voice just above a snarl._

 

“ _You have no right to what you did – any of it. You’ve corrupted him, seduced him. Because of you, he won’t accept what he is.”_

 

 _The only reaction Mercury gave was to tighten the grip on her Rods at the word “seduced.” So, there was something she was capable of feeling shame about. “Jet knows damn well what it means. He’s refused it._ _**Humans** _ _have no directives. They have choice. You know it, I know it. And he_ _**chooses** _ _to fight for this world, for Ma3a.”_

 

“ _Then your job is to make sure he stops running around pretending to be a System Monitor.”_

 

“ _No. My_ _ **job**_ _is to train him, teach him, prepare him for all the GIGO he’s going to face by taking that decision gate.”_

 

“ _You’ll get him killed.”_

 

_There was a flicker of fear, quickly hidden. “Not if you help.”_

 

 

So, mission accomplished, malware defeated, and putting this off for another microcycle wouldn’t make it any easier.

 

Tron found him at a training arena, one of those spots coded up before The Coup where those who tried out for the (nonlethal) Games ran qualifying courses; moving blocks, pop-up walls, training drones, pit traps. However, Tron didn’t quite recognize the layout. Alan-2 (or “Jet” as he preferred to be called) was in the middle of the course run, vaulting two walls before hurling a disc at the drone on the right, which went down in a single hit as he turned and blocked a shot from the remaining one before returning fire.

 

Of course, that thought brought with it all the reasons why he had to convince the User to abandon the notion of fighting for this world. The other Users seemed to understand; Alan-1 keeping a respectful distance, and Flynn 2.0 (“Sam”) studiously avoids him as much as possible, always keeping a wary eye and making sure Tron never has a clear path to Quorra. All very justified. They don’t make the mistake Flynn did – getting too close, blurring the lines.

 

Tron hadn’t had much interaction with Jet, who called himself “human,” and could barely say “User” without disgust slipping into his voice. Math Assistant Three turned a blind eye to it, dismissing it as a harmless or perhaps beneficial glitch. Mercury coddled him, allowing the delusion that he is not something above mere Program. Of course, she _benefits_ from it. He wore warrior’s armor with Encom circuitry – bright cyan with elaborate patterning. Tron remembered his own set of armor with that pattern and part of him missed not having to conceal his circuitry. Technically, there’s nothing preventing him from showing his circuits again. But that pattern belonged to a different script. It was before Rinzler, Clu, even The Grid.

 

Jet hopped on a block, crouched low, and rode through a narrow passage lined with blades, keeping absolutely still as to not brush one, and then timing the moment between the last blade and the exit to ready the jump to the exit. He made the leap, but came up bit short, grasping the edge. He was trying to scramble up the block when Tron reached the exit point from the other side, grabbing Jet’s wrist and hauling him up.

 

“Thanks,” he said. “Where’d you come from?”

 

“I’ve been here a while.” Tron mastered the art of the non-answer a long time ago.

 

“Oh,” Jet answered, looking down at his shoes. “Just testing a new course I designed. May need a few tweaks.”

 

“You build?”

 

Jet shrugged. “Thought Pop told you – I design game levels in the User world. I won’t force anyone to do something I’m not willing to do myself.”

 

Tron folded his arms. “You mean the ‘real’ world, right?” That’s what Flynn had always called it, after all.

 

Tron noticed a twitch in Jet’s jaw, the curl of his hand into a fist for a nano. It would seem that their so-called shared origin left a few shared tells; Tron hit a nerve. “This world is every bit as _real_ as the one out there.”

 

“This isn’t anyplace for a User.”

 

“You’re right. It isn’t. But Ma3a _asked_ me because someone else will try what F-Con did. I’ll have to drive them back again. And you know I hate being called that.”

 

“It’s what you are.”

 

Jet shook his head. “Not by choice.” Tron almost didn’t hear it, he said it so quietly. But he tried to change the subject. “How was the patrol with Mercury? I’m sorry I wasn’t able to help. The Shiva protocols were quarantined to protect them from the attack.”

 

“The malware was eradicated. System functions are back to normal.” Tron hoped that keeping it strictly professional would allow Jet to get the hint.

 

“That’s not the question. I know you and Merc kicked its butt, but how did it go? Pop’s done a lot of work to restore and upgrade you, and this was your first big patrol outside The Grid in fifteen hundred cycles. Did everything work okay? How are you feeling?”

 

“We had some friction over mission parameters,” Tron admitted. “But we put them aside and got the job done.”

 

There was a flicker of disappointment, but he managed a smile. “I’m glad you came home safe. I was worried about you both.”

 

“Why?”

 

Jet didn’t seem to understand. “Tron, I care about you, okay? I know you’re still shaking off a thousand cycles of bad code and that can’t be easy.”

 

“But why do you care about me?”

 

“I thought that should be obvious. I’m sorry it’s not.” He paused. “We were made by the same man. You’ve seen our father. You even look just like him. You’re...my brother. I know that doesn’t mean much for Programs, but it means a lot as far as humans are concerned. Even if that wasn’t a factor? I owe you my life several times over.”

 

“My directive is to protect Users. You are a User, even if you want to pretend otherwise.”

 

Jet crossed his arms. “What do you want, Tron?”

 

“You don’t understand what you’re saying, what you’re doing. You’re a User – start acting like one.”

 

“What’s a ‘User’ supposed to act like, huh?” He tried to wave it off. “I’m pretty bad at fitting into what I’m ‘supposed to’ be – just ask Pop.”

 

“And so you think pretending to be a warrior and getting yourself de-rezzed is a better idea?”

 

“I’m not ‘pretending.’ This is my _choice_ , and I know I could die, de-rez, whatever. I’ve risked my life on a lot stupider things. At least with this, that risk will mean something.”

 

It was hard to tell what was worse, Jet’s stubbornness or the fact that the young User sounded far too...familiar. Back when Tron wore armor like that, he would have said the same thing. He might have even been enthusiastic about the idea that a User would volunteer to serve the system, to put aside power in order to maintain peace and freedom.

 

He thought Flynn was the User who would do that. After all, he was thrown to The Games. He fought beside them. He was genuinely grieving when Ram was lost, and he made a risky move that should have killed him in order to defeat Master Control. The Grid was born of good intentions, taking those from Encom System’s dying hard drives and decommissioned mainframes, seeding a beautiful new world. He thought Flynn was his friend. He thought Flynn would fight for the Programs, but in the end...

 

Jet had all the signs Flynn did. He’d heard the story, pieced together from Alan-1 and Mercury; Jet was put in the system, disc shoved in his hand, and sent to fight. In the process, he became infatuated with the Program world. And even if, deep down, he wanted what Jet was offering, it was nothing more than a lovely dream. The lines had to be re-drawn. This had to end before it went too far. Showing him just how quickly and easily he could be killed might just scare him enough to stop this delusion. It was time to break this _human_ so that a _User_ can be compiled from the remains.

 

“Let’s spar,” Tron said. “Discs only. No User powers. Mercury tell me she’s been training you.”

 

Jet pulled his disc off his forearm, setting the stun feature. “She has. And...I’d like that.”

 

There wasn’t a need to waste the obstacle course. Tron would start from one end, Jet from the other, and the obstacles were going to be as much of a challenge as one another.

 

The signal went off and they began to run.

 

The razor corridor was narrow, almost too much for Tron’s shoulders, but staying still and being patient were too familiar strategies. His block emerged from the tunnel to see Jet still racing on the obstacle track. Perfect! He took the shot. Jet wove out of the way and pulled his disc. Tron had questioned Jet’s decision to keep it on his left forearm and the old Encom design; but seeing it in action, there was a degree of sense – quick access and he used it as a shield, blocking a drone shot before returning fire. The disadvantage of the disc design, however, was that it didn’t have the range as the hollow-center Grid design, and the shot fell short, leaving Jet disarmed until recall.

 

Easy target.

 

A blast from the drones barely missed his nose. Damn it – really should take those out. Two disc strikes – disabled, but now Jet had his disc and was leaping across a pit, reaching the midpoint of the arena.

 

This section had been peppered with pop up vent traps, set to go off in random intervals. Same with walls, pits, and spikes. Few things were truly random, however.

 

Tron took his shot – more a warning shot than anything. Jet easily blocked and fired back, aiming for the legs. Smart move, as it forced him to roll away from the shot to avoid getting struck. Discs back in their hands, they both had to jump opposite directions to avoid one of the arena’s spikes.

 

“Fight like you mean it,” Tron taunted. He punctuated the statement with with a throw that glanced off Jet’s shoulder, dulling the circuits on his left arm – one that would hurt, but wasn’t disabling yet.

 

He had his answer, the next shot thrown quick and dirty for mid-chest that narrowly avoided his identifier mark. _Good one._

 

They traded fire for the next few seconds. Jet managed to clip Tron’s side with a curved shot, aggravating an old scar. He got out of the center of the arena and onto some higher ground, the shots becoming harder to dodge. Tron had to grudgingly admit that the User was talented. Even the best ICP units and game combatants didn’t last so long in a straight disc match, nor could they block his shots.

 

Jet had ducked into a part of the maze with curved mirrored walls that rotated, flashing lights, loud sounds that echoed, and the odd drone patrol, making for a disorienting mess to try and navigate. Jet built this? Okay, color him somewhere between impressed and _annoyed_. His feet slipped on the sleek glass-like surface and he had to scramble to his feet and look quickly to find and snipe the drone coming for him, only to find he took out a mirror that fizzled out and began to recompile. Two more hits disabled the drone, but he rounded the corner and saw Jet trying to climb up a ladder to reach the next part of the maze, but the section rotated and dropped him to the floor.

 

Tron couldn’t help it. Cold smile and feral growl, the euphoric moment of a trapped opponent, the second of fear, the anticipation of destroying...

 

Jet put his disc up and dropped into defensive stance, dodging the first strike, sweeping low, clipping the disc to his arm for better chance at grappling. He was able to use the rotation and momentum to get them both off balance, managing a hard shot at Tron’s jaw with the base of his palm, scrambling to get out of melee range. Tron was not about to let that happen – no, Jet had to be bested _, defeated_.

 

Using an old trick from the arena, he was able to scale the wall and use it for leverage to launch himself at Jet. To his credit, he didn’t waste time staring, and almost evaded the pounce, the disc edge scoring his armor as he hissed with pain, his leg circuits dulling.

 

“This isn’t just sparring, is it?”

 

Tron wanted to growl a “No,” but all that came out of his vocal processor was a Rinzler growl. He tried to backhand Jet, but Jet pushed back, a palm strike to the identifier circuits that sent him staggering. A circuit hit was certainly not expected. Was it a lucky shot or…

 

“I could hurt you,” Jet said.

 

“ _I doubt it._ ” He punctuated it with a fist, which connected. Blood dropped from Jet’s nose, but he still fought, trading the blow with another to Tron’s ribs. User blood _should have_ stopped him, but it only made Tron angrier. “You're trapped. Stop fighting."

 

Jet shook his head, blocking the incoming fist with his forearm. "You think the _Wraiths_ held back?"

 

Jet insisted on fighting. He insisted on trying to keep going. Why didn’t he surrender? He tried to make a circuit strike with his disc to Jet’s wounded leg, but Jet was able to spring away, get behind Tron and deliver a closed-fist blow between Tron’s shoulders. He had feigned being more wounded than he actually was – a dirty malware trick. Mercury taught him _well_.

More blows, more strikes, more blood. He was able to avoid hard disc strikes, but the edge still left multiple cuts. Tron had to admit, the User was good – maybe as good as Cyrus or even Beck. But that brought another surge of rage – Mercury’s arrogance in thinking she could _surpass_ him. Seven apprentices – all of them de-rezzed, and that damn spyware thought she could do _better_? He’d grabbed Jet’s wrist, wrenching it hard enough to shatter a Program’s hand. Jet brought his foot down on Tron’s knee.

 

Both of them wounded, both of them grappling. But eventually there was a gap in Jet’s defense. Three quick blows and Jet was on the ground – one disc strike, and…

 

The rage passed. He was looking down. The room’s spin had halted. And under his feet…Unconscious User. Blood on the walls, on the floor. Not enough to be critical, but enough to drive the point.

 

He could justify it a dozen different ways, mostly in the form of trying to protect a foolish User from his own folly. But it still meant a terrible thing; he had harmed a User, broken his core directive. If that disc hadn’t been on stun…

 

The good news was that the drones’ settings could be used for summoning medical assistance.

 

* * *

 

 

Fortunately, the Encom Grid medical facility asked few questions. Ma3a had a special medical unit in her Citadel, probably due to her reliance on covert operatives to act as her hands and eyes in the system.

 

Tron’s own wounds were simple to patch – recoding a damaged knee and a couple ribs. Jet’s wounds...how were they going to treat that? He leaned against the wall, shifting his weight on the bench, ruminating over what was going to happen when Alan-1 found out. Certain de-rez, most likely. A critical failure like that couldn’t…

 

“Tron?”

 

Jet was behind him, hand on his shoulder, completely patched.

 

“Alan-2.”

 

“Don’t call me that. See? Nothing to worry about. I’m okay. Hairline wrist fracture – they were able to patch that. Bad headache – I’m going to have to walk that off. But no lasting damage done.”

 

A patch. Flynn had floated past the theoretical possibility of their effectiveness. At best, it could mean a cure for many User-world ailments. At worst, it would corrupt the User to the point where they would not be able to survive in analog.

 

“I still damaged you.”

 

“I won’t tell Pop if you don’t,” Jet said. “But what’s really going on?”

 

“I can’t let a User willingly harm themselves. If the only way to stop you -” His voice locked up, unable to finish.

 

Jet leaned back on the bench. “You sound so much like our dad sometimes. Act like him, too.”

 

“ _Your_ father. My _User._ ”

 

“Just because I’m coded up in DNA and you’re coded in Gibbs 4 doesn’t make you any _less_ his son. Thought he already told you that.”

 

“It doesn’t change reality. You are a User, Alan-2. You can’t go endangering yourself. Mercury can't protect you. Neither can I.”

 

“What? You think my job when danger comes screaming in is to tuck my tail between my legs and haul ass, leaving everyone else to de-rez? Bullshit. _I’m not_ _ **Flynn**_ _._ ”

 

Tron didn’t really understand the string “bullshit” aside from a User-based unpleasantry that seemed to mean _“_ _something to regard with great contempt_ _.”_ Flynn was certainly fond of using it to describe dealings with Encom administration. “Your anger with him is unjustified.”

 

“My anger is _mine_. But he’s part of why I chose what I did. I can’t be a User in that way. Thorne, F-Con, Flynn...it all ended the same way; User dies horribly and a lot of innocent Programs go down with him. No thanks. _Someone_ should have been there. _Someone_ should have had your back.”

 

“And you wish it were you.”

 

Jet didn’t have to answer out loud – the answer was already clear. “I know you don’t get why.”

 

Tron looked up. There was something that just made him unsettling, but Tron couldn’t quite place what it was. He could look at Jet and see what he was as a young script – full of purpose and faith. Another glimpse and he could see Yori – compassionate, adaptable, and brave. Or maybe he saw some of Beck – foolishly willing to fight and loyal past reason.

 

“I’m still corrupted. Part of that will never go away. I lost control.”

 

“I don’t care. I saw Thorne. I saw what that ‘upgrade’ did to Ma3a. I _know_ what bad code does to good Programs. You were _violated_. _**It was not your fault**_. There is no way it could have been. As for the control?  We can work on that. I want to help you. And even…even if…”

 

He put his hand out; simple gesture, easily processed. “No matter what, you are still my _brother_. Let's help each other, work _together_.”

 

What he offered was something simple and wonderful. Forgiveness, acceptance, peace; not just from a User, but the upgraded version of his creator. A bond based on nothing more than being created by the same being. It would honor Jet’s choice to serve the Programs as a defender, and the two of them could be united as warriors as well as “brothers.” There would have been a time when he took that hand without hesitation, echoed the honorific even if he couldn’t fully understand it, and reveled in the idea that the lines between User and Program could be erased. He ached for it, needed it like air and energy.

 

But the offer, clumsy and well-intentioned, was based in User privilege. Jet could try to forget, try to mask what he is behind Encom circuitry patterns, loyalist colors, and careful mimicry of Program mannerisms. He could afford to forget that the Programs are not the same as User-kind. A Program cannot have the same luxury to forget Jet is User. The directive is to fight for them, but that does not mean he can allow this.

 

“I can’t see you the way you see me.” If breaking him through combat wouldn't work, maybe breaking his dream would.

 

The words stung. It was noticeable in the way the jaw set and lowering of eyelids, tension in his shoulders, heaviness in the arms as his hand dropped. “I know.” Jet got up and pressed the button activating the exit portal, but he didn't turn away. He walked into the portal backward, slowly vanishing into orange light. His voice faded, too. “But it won’t change how I feel. And it won’t change my choice.”

 

Tron stared at the portal for a very long time. He wasn't sure which of them made the right decision. 

**Author's Note:**

> * GIGO = Garbage in, Garbage Out. An old programming mantra 
> 
> For this, I thank the Tron RPers on tumblr who have been nice enough to help run the experiment of _"Who is this User and why is he calling me brother?"_ The whole headcanon about Jet's sibling fixation has become a favorite. But it also means the kid's as bad as Sora and Beck put together.


End file.
